


Revelations

by LR Bowen (LRBowen_MadameManga)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRBowen_MadameManga/pseuds/LR%20Bowen
Summary: Based on the episode ‘Resolutions’. A meditation on Kathryn and Chakotay's stay on New Earth alone with each other, and what might have happened there.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Revelations

Revelations by L.R. Bowen Star Trek: Voyager is copyright by Paramount Pictures, Inc. No infringement is intended. Story is copyright by L.R. Bowen, LRBowen . Do not sell or print for sale without the express written permission of the author, and do not circulate without the author's name and this disclaimer attached. Permission is granted to circulate free of charge in electronic form. Please do not archive without contacting the author.  
SPOILER WARNING: This story is based very closely on "Resolutions", takes place during it, and should only be read after seeing the episode, or it won't make complete sense.

"Revelations": VOY, J/C, PG-13, romantic. Synopsis: A meditation on Kathryn and Chakotay's stay on New Earth alone with each other, and what might have happened there.

Paramount owns these people, but all of us help give them life. It is my firm belief, with some confirming information, that "Resolutions" would never have been produced if it had not been for the fan response to the idea of Janeway and Chakotay together. Kudos to Jeri Taylor for having the soul of a fan herself.

Revelations  
by L. R. Bowen

She had it all planned out, every move in advance, though she knew he would have smiled if he had known. He would have cracked a joke about how she organized everything she did, and he would have been right. She did like to organize, and to have a clear plan of action. With enough room to maneuver, in case of surprises.

None of this should have taken her unawares. Of course she had noticed his notice of her, and his careful grace in trying not to make it too obvious. Even though they were the only two humans on the planet, that was hardly basis for a relationship, and she had meant to tell him that. That had made sense at the time. Really, it had. They had struck a spark into ready fuel, and it needed rapid quenching if it was not to keep smoldering, all night and longer. His hands on her shoulders, strong fingers, stooped low enough over her that she could feel warm breaths through her hair; and the sweet sensual feel of loosening muscles, of melting tension. His intent had shifted, silently, but so clearly that he might have spoken it in her ear. They could have surprised themselves just then, but she had never planned on this, and she needed room to maneuver. No matter the heart-stirring warmth in his dark eyes, reluctantly shown, and the almost-asked question, suppressed, and asked anyway. Tall and broad, his features open as a child's.

She had had to think first, tucked in bed, the narrow little cot that would never accommodate such a big man-no, that was not the thought she wanted. Thoughts needed planning too. She sped her mind along several possible paths at once, extrapolating the outcome on each. The most likely one? She was a woman, there were no other women, but that didn't mean anything if she didn't want it to. He would never make it mean anything that she didn't welcome, no matter how much he needed it. She didn't want him to starve, but she wasn't survival gear. She had to tell him that. They were friends, far more, and this might spoil that forever. Forever could be a long time with no friends. Parameters, drawn firmly, clear plans, and she would not worry any longer.

And then he had handed her another surprise. How long had he been building it in secret?

He had to wrap himself in a story, the way he so often did. Why couldn't he just say what he meant, instead of attributing it to someone else? "My people have a saying," he would say, and she would want to reply, "I will listen to you all by yourself, Chakotay. You don't have to cite authority." He had to set it outside himself to bring it out at all. And she had listened long enough to realize that this was not a story, and that he had brought her another gift out of hiding. The most precious of any thing he had built for her, and she knew its meaning instantly. Could she ever not have known that he was keeping it for her? She wept unconsciously, and did not know it until he smoothed one tear away. They sat so long, hand-clasped, that the birds were stirring in the trees before he rose, kissed her thumb, and stepped away. When he retreated into his own alcove and she into hers, she had no sense of interruption, because somehow he had filled her with his warmth. Her sleep was deep and peaceful, knowing she had brought him peace herself. He had given it back to her.

The smell of breakfast woke her, and his movements around the work area, the creak of his belt when he leaned over the table to set it, flatware clicking softly on the surface. Coffee. They were careful with the use of the replicator, though they had power for many years; they would need it far more in the future than they did now, still young and able to farm and gather.

They were going to grow old together.

She had more time than she could possibly need to find the right moment, but she wanted to use a little more of it. Exist in the present, keep this instant of their lives as long as possible. This could only be done once, and had to be done correctly. Slowly, in order to make no mistakes. When there were only two people in all the world, they couldn't afford mistakes. There would be only one first time.

Slow, gradual; he might kiss her cheek today, briefly, and she would put her hands on his shoulders when he did so. Touch his face, let him comb her hair and braid it. The knowledge of his feelings was too new, and her own feelings-now that she could look back at the last year and a half with this new lens, many incidents leaped into focus, but she could not yet form a coherent picture. It would emerge bit by bit, memories blending with the present to shape the future. She had a vision of the finished picture in mind, only a glow on the horizon now, but she knew the light would strengthen, that dawn would eventually rise to a new day. It seemed as inevitable as the turning of the planet. But it was not here yet; it was only a goal. She liked having goals, and watching their approach. She would signal each stage when she was ready, by being in reach when he moved, or by reaching out to him. She would wait one week before she hugged him from behind to greet him in the morning.

This morning, she gave him a smile when she came out of her alcove with her hair loose, and he took her hand for a moment before he turned to put the dishes on the table. She estimated six weeks, tops, from the date of yesterday when he had told her his story. It could have been diagrammed in an arc: they had been left on the planet together, as one foot of the arc, and there had been a slow rise along the limb to where they were now, short of the apex of the curve. It had not been a smooth progression, since surprises leaped it upwards, now and then, but it rose steadily on the average, plotted between the points. She could plan for surprises now, and smooth the curve. And put off the gradual downturn after the apex, if that was the natural shape of the arc. She knew he liked to carve new shapes from the natural. Two weeks, and she would go to sleep on his shoulder as they lay on the grass under the trees.

Breakfast was a little more special than usual, with the coffee, but not overstated. That would have been too much of a leap on the curve. He wanted it slow, too. He would let her lead. He seemed to eat nothing, but smiled as if that were his nourishment. She smiled back. Three weeks, give or take, and she would let his hands soothe her weariness, as long as they both liked... She helped him clean up, and went outside to clear away the last few fallen branches.

The kiss he gave her when she came back in surprised her. Not her hands on his shoulders, but her arms around his neck, and his arms wrapped so tightly she was lifted off the ground. And his lips brushed hers, open, briefly, before he put her down a little sheepishly and they sat at their desks to work. By four or five weeks, she would have seen his body, and he hers. She knew he would never rush her, not even when she explored him with her own hands. She would need to study his reactions to know what pleased him. At five weeks, she would ask him what he liked the most, so he would know that he could ask her the same. A little discussion beforehand never hurt, and opened the dialogue. It was always worth the trouble to check one's assumptions and hypotheses to avoid experimental blunders. They ate lunch together, and talked so long that it was dinnertime before they stood up from the table.

Six weeks, and she would linger in his alcove after dinner, listening to him read aloud as he reclined on his bed. She would loosen his shirt from his belt, slowly, as she would have done several times by then, push it up and put her cheek against his chest to feel his voice resonate through his body. She would give him poetry to read to her, and watch his face. He would cock an eyebrow at her when he came across a phrase that struck him as funny, and she would laugh even before she heard what he was going to say. Then she would stop laughing, and grow serious-or collapse in laughter on his chest, embracing him under his shirt. He would drop the padd on the floor and embrace her as well, and they would lie sealed together, counting heartbeats, time expiring. One part of their lives would pass away like that, and another take its place. Would she say something to confirm it? He might know, by then, how to read it without words. And he would know it was coming, by then. She did not intend to take him by surprise.

At bedtime, they kissed again. She let her lips relax against his, soft and affectionate, not too intense at this point. He read her perfectly, and did the same. A long hug that pressed his face into her hair, molded her body against him, not too tightly. But enough for her to feel his erection, so hard against her stomach that she thought for a moment it was the handle of a tool tucked in his belt. Right then, right now, if she gave the word, he would sweep her up and lay her down, reveal them both to the light, advance time so swiftly that her senses would fill themselves with him in an instant, weeks crammed into the moment...

He let her go, and went to bed behind the partition.

She lay awake for some time, listening to him turn over every few minutes, and automatically doing the same, as if she were shifting to accommodate his movements or lie closer to him. The bed seemed too large for her alone, though still not big enough for two. Would only time help her with that perception?

The days passed slowly one by one, but each was so swift that she had no sense of impatience. Nothing hurried them. They cooked and ate, worked and read, went on exploring walks. They held hands when it was convenient. Sometimes they would stop in their tracks, watching an animal escape into the trees, or simply to allow a lull. Sometimes then his hands would rest on her shoulders, and he would move closer until his arms went around her and his chin pressed on her head. He was heavy, but he never let his weight rest on her. Their favorite little meadow, where the grass was usually not damp in the afternoons, was a good place to sleep for an hour when it was warm. She would wake to find him watching her, as if he meant to read her dreams, and she would let them show in her eyes, since she wanted him to know. Kissing, they would lie on the grass, exploring the minute variations of each positioning of lips and tongue, tasting the sweetness of promised future. It would never taste the same once it had become the present. It might be better. But she needed to study each nuance before it passed forever, because she would never have another opportunity.

At two weeks and several days, she had let him know that his hands were welcome anywhere he chose to put them over her clothing, and he had used that privilege discreetly. The soft brush of his fingertips over her breasts in passing, resting a hand on her hip when she bent to retrieve something. She did not touch him too much herself, as it would be a signal that even he might misinterpret. But she would stroke down his thigh when he stood up next to her, feeling the movement of the muscles under his trousers. Tighten and release, the strength of the movement, the relaxation when it was complete and he loomed over her, smiling down with the little quirk of the lips she liked so much. He had strong legs, and a muscular pelvis; his every movement had weight, and light grace as well. He would never use his strength clumsily or wrongly. She knew he had power, and that he had no need to restrain any urge to abuse it. There would be no surprises from that quarter.

He even gave her space to breathe and think alone. His eyes did not follow her everywhere she went in the house, so she did not need to escape outside. And he let her go on walks by herself, though he would remind her to take a phaser just in case. She never needed it. There were no animals larger than the monkeys. She wondered a little at the structure of the ecosystem, but he only said, "That reminds me of a legend," and smiled at her. He told her a story about an earthly paradise, where people could live all their lives on the fruit and acorns, which were always in season, and on the trout in the streams, which leaped of their own accord into the fires to roast.

"It's not quite that easy here," she said.

"I wouldn't want it to be that easy," he replied, and stirred the soup he was making.

The next day she found something on her bed. A leaf, folded carefully around some small object and tied with a strand of grass. It was a pendant and small polished beads, all carved from soft dark stone and strung on a round braided cord. He smiled when she came out wearing it over her dress, and told her that the stone would harden with exposure to air and sunlight. On examination she realized that the cord was made from gathered strands of her own hair, twisted into slender twines and plaited. It was as strong as steel cable, and the color of bronze. The pendant pulled the beads into a sheer parabola around her throat. After a few days, the dark stone took on a subtle sheen from her body. She removed it only when she took her baths.

At three and a half weeks, she invited him to come and talk to her one evening while she soaked, and eventually he shed his own clothes and slipped in with her, spilling the excess water onto the hot stones with a noisy rush of steam. "Thank you for illustrating the principles of Archimedes," she joked, and he laughed harder than she had ever seen him do, sending little ripples across the tub to her with the vibrations of his chest.

"Eureka," he said when he could speak, and she laughed with him. They were sitting at opposite ends of the tub, a little cramped with knees drawn up, but he had built it roomy.

"I don't suppose he expected revelations from a bath," she said.

"Neither did I," he replied. Both of them were quiet for a long time, sitting in the steam. Eventually his eyes drifted from her face, and she smiled to let him examine her. It was dark, and the water lent mystery, but she knew he could see her breasts, and the curve of her torso down into the dimness. She spread her arms and leaned back. He was poised a little forward, his elbows on the rim. "You're very beautiful, Kathryn," he said.

When she did not reply immediately, he looked off into the woods. Was he going to surprise her after all? She held her breath, but he did not move. Only his chest, deep controlled breaths. He smiled off into the darkness, pulling in his lips. She expected a quip when he turned to her again, but he only looked at her with the same heart-stirring warmth, open as a child's.

"You're very beautiful, Chakotay," she said at last, and he grinned, and closed his eyes.

"There's not much basis for comparison around here, is there?" he said.

"What comparison do I need?" she asked, and surprised herself.

"Yes, some principles are absolute," he said, and stood up. The water level dropped precipitously, and he put a hand on the rim and vaulted out. "I'm afraid I've spoiled your bath."

"I invited you." Their eyes met. He dropped his gaze after a moment, then brought it back up and looked earnestly at her.

"Would you like some help?"

"Getting out of the tub? I can manage that pretty well on my own."

"There are a lot of things I can manage on my own. Sometimes I let someone else help me with them." He picked up her towel and wrapped it around his waist, then stepped back. "I'll get another one for you."

While he was gone, she wondered. Was she going too slowly? Was the curve dropping off between the points? She would have to draw the line again and re-plot the chart. Sometimes in the middle of an experiment, a new weight would pull the curve into a different shape, and she was bound to consider that. There was another hand to carve this with her. It took him so long to come back that she realized he was giving her time to think, and then her decision was swift. When he came out of the house again, dressed and carrying a dry towel, she kissed him, nude and dripping as she was, and took him back inside, leading him by the hand.

He never removed his own clothes, though she loosened his shirt, and he gently pushed her hands away from his trouser fastenings. In her desk chair, she sat with her head flung back, her hands in his hair as his head nestled in her lap. She had no concept of the passage of time. He wanted to give, and she let him, for an eternity of the present.

They slept, awkwardly, on his narrow bed.

The next morning he had not started cooking breakfast by the time she rose, and was designing something on her monitor. Purposely, she did not look at the screen. He spent a long time in the woods, and she saw him looking thoughtfully at the downed trees in the yard, occasionally phasering off a large section and dragging it out of sight with him. It took him almost a week, and he quietly stacked finished crossbars and posts in his alcove, one by one.

"Would you like some help?" she asked, and he smiled at her.

"No," he said. "It's a surprise."

Four weeks and one day. She went for a long walk on her own, and he still had several walls detached and down on the grass when she returned. He looked sweaty and disheveled, a little frazzled, and relieved when she suggested dinner outside in the warm evening air. She took a bath while he made thumping, dragging noises inside for an hour afterwards. Once she heard a crash, and a curse. Finally it fell quiet, though he did not call her, and it grew too late to delay any longer. She put on her robe and went inside. He was fast asleep, probably from sheer exhaustion, still in his clothes. He hadn't finished rearranging the interior, but the new bed had an alcove of its own, barely large enough to accommodate it. He had left room beside him. She put on her nightclothes, watching him as he slept. He was on his stomach, turned to the outside of the bed, to the door of the alcove, his head pillowed on one arm. At least he had taken off his boots. His shirt was damp across the back and under the arms; she could smell him like a warm breeze. She tugged the blankets out from under him and snuggled in against his side.

The smell of breakfast woke her again, and coffee. She sat up in bed and he brought her a tray, and fetched one for himself. He had washed and changed his clothes, and when they had finished eating, he brushed out her hair. She could feel his fingers stroking through it, smoothing it, and she asked him what he liked about it. His hands paused, then dropped to her shoulders, and he rested his cheek against hers, lightly, his chest warm against her back. He told her a story, about corn-silk goddesses and a lusty warrior, and she laughed.

Four weeks, two days. Thirty sunrises. She had marked every point along the way, nestling each in the soft lap of memory, saving them one by one to keep them strung on the curve of the unbreakable cord. The apex was reached, and it might only keep ascending. There were no predictions in her mind any more, so there could be nothing that contradicted expectation. For the rest of their lives. He asked her, shyly, what she liked best about love, and she answered simply, "You." It wasn't surprise in his face; it was more like the sun rising. She didn't have to answer any more questions.

That afternoon, she put tomato seeds into pots to sprout. She had no idea how long it would be before they were ready to plant.

END


End file.
